Death.

Day seven: The thing(s) you're most afraid of.
I am most afraid of loss and death. 
I'm not so much afraid of dying as I am afraid of not living. I like my life, I like living and I don't want to stop. The thought terrifies me. My heart is clenching right now typing this. I'm absolutely terrified. I would love to have the ability to take an immortality pill.
I also am afraid of losing my loved ones. My children, the mister, my parents and friends. I've suffered loss before and I'm not a fan. 
I know these are a fact of life and they make you stronger but I still don't want to experience them. I'm not sure many people do and I know I'm not alone. Life sucks at times.

I'm Missing Her.

Day twelve: What do you miss?

I miss my puppy dog, Casey/KC. we lost her two days shy of eleven years ago. Two days before my sixteenth birthday. Talk about a shitty rather than sweet sixteenth.

Casey came into our lives as a pup. Well before then as she was born to family friend's dogs, a cattle dog and a dingo. A dog trainer's nightmare. The mix of dog I'd love to have again.

Six year old me with four year old Casey.

I chose her when I was two. I wanted the pure white dog who was called Squeak as she squeaked a lot. My cousin also wanted her but I was promised first pick and I got her. To an only child, she was my sister and my confidant.

Casey was one amazing dog. She had the dingo free spirit and ran away multiple times on adventures that found her being spray painted pink outside of McDonald's, fed steaks from owners of a 7/11, and countless trips to the pound including a long stay as they refused to euthanise her knowing we would come and pick her up (back before mobile phones were prevalent and the pound was open during the hours my parents worked). One of the pound employees was going to take her home if we didn't pick her up when we did. Casey thanked them by saying goodbye to them before saying hello to us when we picked her up.

I don't know how but I do know she understood the English language. I taught her how to cross the road safely, to bite someone who was wearing all black including shoes and a hat (which my dad's poor boss happened to on the day Casey nipped him), she knew when it was her birthday and would be pissed if we didn't have her present for her in the morning. She knew more than a dog should.

Casey was my soulmate. We had a connection like no other. She knew me more than anyone has and I knew her, we got each other.

I miss her every day. I wish my children got to meet her, feel her amazing spirit and soft ears. I wish she were here now licking my tears I wouldn't be crying for her.

Death (Hasn't) Become Her (Yet)

Eden has a new challenge this week; funeral song. We have a busy day planned (birth centre appointment, Apple store to get my macbook and iphone fixed, groceries, housework - I really should be cleaning the kitchen right now) so I thought this would be an easy blog post to pump out.

I remember planning out my funeral in a classmate's book in year twelve. It included a glitter pink coffin, balloons, fairy floss and everyone wearing rainbow colours. I'm also sure it included Sarah McLachlan's 'Angel'; such a generic funeral song that I'm sure most girls in my class would have included it;

That was about nine years ago though and it's changed now. You play that at my funeral and it better be your choice rather than mine.

It depends how I die though. Fuck it, regardless of how I die I want my all time favourite quote from 'The End' by The Doors (from 4:48 in their live version);

Don't let me die in an automobile

I want to lie in an open field

I want the snakes to suck my skin

I want the worms to be my friend

I want the birds to eat my eyes

As here I lie

The clouds fly by

Other than that I would love to have one of my favourite Pink Floyd songs, Shine On You Crazy Diamond;

Also this song is a MUST! If I don't have this I'm going to haunt people.

Did I mention I have a strange obsession with death? I love skulls, cemeteries, hearses but hate funerals and am petrified not of death but of not living. I'd take one of those live forever pills so I would never leave the ones I love.   

Important Message for All

Want to play? Join in the fun - Faith Hope & a Whole Lotta Love and My Little Drummer Boys. I haven't linked up this week simply because it's not entirely wordless :)

RIP Steve Jobs

Thank you. Through your inventions you have changed the way I communicate and live my life.

May you rest in peace and your family be at peace knowing you are no longer in pain.

Remembering Ten Years On

I went to bed Tuesday night, September 11 2001, and dreamt about planes flying into high buildings. It couldn't have been from hearing it while sleeping as it was just mum and me living together, we were both sleeping and my window was closed so my cat couldn't escape through the screen she'd previously broken. I was woken at 5am by mum crying, turning on my TV saying that America was at war. 

It was like watching some movie, it was so unbelievable. This type of thing didn't happen in real life. Then the images of the jumpers came through. Over two hundred people jumped over one hundred storeys to their deaths. Those images will never be erased from my memory. I remember thinking how horrible it would be for their family members watching their loved one so desperate to jump out of a window so high to their ultimate death. Traumatising. Together my mum and I watched the shocking events unfold crying.

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It was raining and mum wanted to drive me to school but I had to catch the bus, I had to see my friends straight away and discuss what had happened. At school classes stopped, merged together to watch the news on TV or listen to the radio. Time ceased and we were in a turmoil of shock never before encountered. 

At lunch we huddled around together discussing what the attacks meant for us. We all knew what terrorism was but never on this level. Would conscription occur again? What country were we at war with? Should we all start stocking up on food, clothes and entertainment just in case this meant the depression was reoccurring? All thoughts of fifteen year old kids.

After school I went home and taped the news events knowing that this was a monumental time of our lives. I still have that VHS somewhere but nothing to play it on. There was too much terrible news with hardly any good news to counteract the bad. I remember feeling overwhelmed, turning off the TV and reading a book.

For the next week there was no escaping the attacks. Stories of heroism leaked though; the 'average' people on Flight 93, the volunteer firefighters, policemen and ordinary people who all died to save others. Stories of heartbreak were told; people who weren't supposed to be anywhere near where they were killed, family members holding up 'missing' posters hoping that somehow, somewhere their loved one would be alive. Stories of the people responsible were leaked to the media who helped entice hatred for not only terrorists but for a whole race. Politicians played their respective parts in invoking hatred based on anger and fear for anyone who looked like they could have been the terrorists responsible.

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Two politicians stood out in the midst of the chaos. One was New York City mayor Rudy Giuliani. He stayed calm and tried to keep his people and city calm by saying what always seemed to be the right things. Without him I don't think the city would have worked so well during the chaos. He was the hope everyone needed. The other politician was, of course, President George Bush. His expression when told of the horror while in the middle of that school just confirmed how bad these events really were. I feel for him being in such a wrong place when everything crumbled. He was criticised for events out of his control. No one could comprehend the weight being placed on his shoulders at such a crucial time.

September 11 changed our world. It was used as an excuse to send our Forces to not one but two wars. Families around the world lost loved ones while America lost icons in buildings and people. I couldn't comprehend the reasoning behind or enormity of September 11 when I was fifteen and ten years later I'm still struggling.

Rest In Peace all who died on and after September 11 due to these attacks. In our hearts and minds you will always stay, never forgotten.

Addiction, Drugs and Judgements

If you turned on the news, Facebook or Twitter yesterday you would have seen that Amy Winehouse lost her life to addiction. Some may argue that she already lost her life but I disagree, there was always the hope she would reach out for help and recovery. Sadly, like so many other addicts, she didn't and her body couldn't take it anymore and succumbed to the toxins. 


I loved and will always love her talent. Her voice gives me goosebumps. She reminded me of past famous Jazz artists like Billie Holliday and Ella Fitzgerald. When I first heard her sing on the local radio I turned it up announcing I was listening to the Janis Joplin of our time. I was unaware they shared any similarities past their amazing voices. Unfortunately both travelled an unfortunate path with addiction. 

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Over the years I've discussed Amy Winehouse with family and friends, her music, her husband and her addiction. While they could be harsh I could be nothing but sorry for her. I never felt angry or hurtful towards her. People say she was a bad person as she was a bad role model but I disagree that being a bad role model makes you a bad person. When have you done something you're glad your mother/father/kids didn't see as it isn't something you want to be known for (apart from the obvious, sex)? We aren't perfect, we all make mistakes but that doesn't make us a bad person, it makes us human. 


I've done work experience in a detox that was attached to a rehab. I got along fabulously with many of the consumers even though I couldn't always relate to them. Some poignant events happened which changed my life. I remember talking to one older guy who actually broke down because of the mistakes he'd made, people he'd hurt and what his life had become. After comforting him I remember walking into the office where I was told to read his file and find out how nice he really is. I chose not to as I didn't want to be shocked and act differently around him after reading about his actions while under the influence. Another time a man working in Housing came in to assign someone to a half way house. He asked me what I would do if I found out a consumer was a convicted rapist, would I still work with them? I replied I would but I'd be on guard. He then asked if I thought that a person could be evil and bad? I couldn't answer. He could, with a no. I think back now and I think that there are troubled people, people who haven't learned good coping mechanisms and people who make bad choices. 


Why am I including this? It's part of why I was so appalled at the lack of compassion I witnessed on Twitter. People saying they don't feel sorry for her, why should we mourn a worthless drug addict etc. Disgusting tweets about a fellow human being. It got to the point where I couldn't sit back and say nothing so I tweeted the following;

I expected to lose followers and I did. I didn't expect to have over ten retweets and over fifteen new followers. People who were sick of the callous tweets and found my honesty refreshing. I didn't think of it like that when I tweeted it. I just wanted to shock people into thinking about how it's not always so black and white. Drug users can and are anyone. Drugs and addictions don't discriminate. 


I should back up and tell my story. I've touched on my past drug use in some posts but have never felt the need to go any further with it. Until now. I should disclose that my loved ones know about my past use (I haven't used anything but alcohol, cigarettes or prescribed medications since August 2008).


In late 2006 I found myself single after a two year relationship that I couldn't fight for anymore. I wasn't working and made the move to my mum's on the Gold Coast. After spending my past weekends watching DVDs, playing scrabble or studying I felt free. I lived on the Gold Coast during the week and at my dad's north of Brisbane on the weekend. I partied. It began innocent until I felt attracted to a user. A real party boy. The furthest away from my ex I could get, the complete opposite. He looked like he had fun through my rose coloured glasses. In reality he always looked like he had one or five too many. 


Until then I thought he was the only person I knew who did drugs apart from pot. It turned out a lot of my friends had done drugs. Mostly ecstasy, speed, pot and acid. I'm not going to blame anyone for my drug use. I was influenced, yes, but I chose to do what I did. I made the choices even after working at a detox. I look back now and I know I didn't have a healthy self esteem. I'd come out of a relationship I thought would last with a guy I thought loved me and found out he didn't, never had, just thought he did. I wanted to feel pretty, feel valued and wanted again. Most of all I wanted to be happy. Ecstasy promised me I would. Sometimes it did, sometimes I felt in control but other times I'd lie on my couch watching infomercials unable to move or sleep feeling like shit. 


I've always been a binge drinker. I've been classed as an alcoholic due to not knowing when to stop, say no or not self medicate using alcohol. I can now so don't think I'm an alcoholic instead I believe it's more a lack of self restraint. What attracted me to amphetamines was the control I felt while on them. What scares me about amphetamines is the actual lack of control I have while on them. I've passed out, vomited, hallucinated, forgotten nights and cheated while on them. I've been carried out of clubs, caught taxis home alone, walked in freezing temperatures and stayed awake for days on drugs. Nothing I have done on drugs I've been proud of. Sure I've met some wonderful people who are still my best friends while on drugs but most I've lost contact with. 


The scariest thing ever was being given GBH (a drug I never wanted to try) without my knowledge by a 'friend'. I nearly died. I had to have tests to make sure I didn't have brain damage from it or epilepsy as I fitted for hours. Rather than being a wake up call I saw it as a personal attack and went harder. My friend's didn't appear to really care, in fact the next time I saw them some were high on GBH. I found myself single, living by myself and felt free again. 

Not sober

I found a new circle of friends, a more mature yet looser group of people who knew how to have a good time. I met the mister and we enjoyed our wild weekends. Although they stopped being confined to just the weekends. By now we had included weekdays into our party time. Most of the time it was just alcohol but not small amounts. My record in a night was fifteen ABCs (a shot containing chartruse, barcardi 151 and absinthe). I was binge drinking again but in dangerous amounts. I was getting lifts home with people I'd just met or getting taxis by myself when I couldn't even walk properly. It's amazing that I was never harmed. It would have been easy. 


One night I hit it too hard. I'd been drinking doubles all day then shots all night. I couldn't sit up by the time the mister picked me up. The next day I had a shocking hangover and my body was aching all over. Three days later I found out I was pregnant. Obviously I wasn't healthy and doctors were inundated with questions about the health of our unborn baby. A week later I left to live on two mango farms for three months with the mister following a few weeks later. We quit smoking, I stopped drinking and we cleaned up our lives. It was easy as we didn't have the habit there. It was harder when we came home. The habits were here.   


Lufflump was born healthy and I have been drunk maybe five times since he was born. At a music festival my drink was spiked by a security guard. My choice was taken away again. I passed out and Lufflump had his first bottles of formula. I'll never forgive that asshole but I've been overly cautious since. 


Will I do drugs again? No. I see people on them and I don't miss it at all. I believe drugs have caused my anxiety to get worse. Do I judge others that do drugs? No. Will I tell our children about my drug use? Yes. I'll tell them everything I know. Kids know more than you think they do. You tell them drugs are all bad and they'll go out and try them to prove you wrong. Do I regret my drug use? Some. I regret I took it too far, I stopped caring about myself, my safety and my life. I don't regret the people I met through the lifestyle, some are too precious to me. 


Judge Amy Winehouse and you judge me too. The difference is I was saved, I decided the life we made was too precious to harm or lose. We were also helped along the way with our move to isolation. Unfortunately Amy wasn't saved and she will go down as one of the legends who were troubled and lost too young.


Judge me on my past and you could be judging your neighbour, best friend, boyfriend, sibling, parent or yourself. If you judge someone on their addiction ask yourself why? If you aren't an addict or alcoholic count yourself lucky that you can stop at your second glass of wine. 

Auf Wiedersehen

Yesterday we celebrated a life and mourned that that life was no longer being lived.

I'm a crier. I cry at Huggies ads on TV. I cry at weddings. Funerals are the worse though. I'm one of those people that would walk into a stranger's funeral and cry so much the family would end up comforting me. I can't help it. It's the pain felt by others.

I attended a funeral of the partner of a close friend from high school just before Christmas. I felt so much sadness for her loss and his. He wouldn't be there for his son's first Christmas or birthday, she wouldn't have him by her side anymore. They would never get married. He wouldn't see his son grow up. He wouldn't be able to teach his son to drive or ride bikes, two things he loved doing. My friend was so composed throughout the funeral, how I don't know. She said she was all cried out. I was too by the end of the day. My heart still pains for her and her son. It always will.

My Opa's funeral was at the same place. Two funerals in six months. I've only been to six funerals and don't remember two as I was too young. 

Opa's funeral was lovely. I've never been to one that wasn't, celebrants, priests and whoever else conduct funerals do such a good job. 

My uncle did the eulogy and he did an amazing job. I think it helped him get through the day. I'm glad he said it. Opa would have been extremely proud.

My cousins wrote a tribute to Opa too. I did but didn't send it through. I didn't need to as Cerrissa said everything I would have. His wink, cheeky smile, chases around the house tickling, big sloppy kiss hello and goodbye and his wonderful bear hugs. That was my Opa. My cousins and I nodded our heads laughing throughout the tribute.

The photos. So many photos. Photos from Germany. Photos of his family. His mum. His dad. There was even a photo of his dad's funeral. So many photos we hadn't seen before. Photos of his kids young and old. Photos of the grandkids through the years. Photos of his great grandchild young because he'll never see him grow.

The coffin. I saw it without anything on it. I touched it twice. I cried heavily twice. The mister said the closer I got to the coffin the more I cried. It's true. He was there. He was right there yet I couldn't see him, couldn't touch him. He was there but he wasn't.

The closing of the curtains. The final goodbye. I had to hold myself back from running forward and stopping them from closing. I had to hold myself to the seat so I didn't yell 'Not yet it's not time. We are not ready'. The last time we would see him but not. The last time his body would be whole even though his mind wasn't for so long. 

A service to celebrate a life, mourn a death and crave a change in this course called living.

A wonderful life he had and so many lives he touched. 

Auf Wiedersehen "Wally", my Opa. Auf Wiedersehen until next time.

Argh

I'm in one of those limbos. I want to do stuff and I do have stuff to do but I don't feel like doing anything but sitting on the computer reading about other people's lives.

Munchkin has shared his illness so while he has been sleeping all day (I mean ALL day) I've been feeling like shit. My hands are freezing and I'm not sure if it's because it's cold or I have a temperature.

If he doesn't have a miraculous recovery tomorrow morning he won't be able to go to daycare. That means more stress for me. Even more wonderful is the mister sorta needs to go to TAFE for half a day tomorrow. I was counting on him looking after munchkin for me.

Am I able to crawl under a comfy rock and come out Friday? Bonus would be if my uni work and media kit for this blog was finished. 

Please?

Day After No More Days

Last night I dreamt. I dreamt about my family. I dreamt about Opa.

This morning I woke feeling hot. Munchkin had a temperature and was heating me up. 

I also felt exhausted. Not physically but emotionally. It took a minute or two to remember why. 

Opa died.

Tears started springing straight away. It wasn't meant to be. I would never see him again in person. I would only have photos and memories now.

I shook my head remembering he was sick. He wasn't my Opa and I had already made the decision that I wouldn't see him in person again as it was too heartbreaking and frustrating for both of us. 

Why then am I so upset? 

Is it because the choice to see him has been stolen from me? 

Is it because it's so unexpected?

Why?

I don't know. I'm sitting here crying and not really knowing why.

I've already done this. I've already grieved for him. His mind was dead. He wasn't my Opa anymore.

Is it because of this I'm upset? Because he was sick and he deserved not to be. 

Who does deserve it though? No one.

I've missed him this year. I still do. 

I miss him now more than ever.

Heartbreak

This morning I woke up and posted a status on Facebook saying 'Facebook is shit'. While on there I saw my cousin, Cerrissa's status - 'Another angel watching over me'. My heart broke for her as I knew she was attending a funeral today and her granddad died a month ago. I didn't say anything on her status though as I thought it was about a friend rather than a family member.

My lovely cousin sent me a text straight away saying 'I love you'. I sent back 'I love you too. Are you ok?' to which she replied 'Yeah. Are you?'. I laughed and told the mister, we were both wondering why I wouldn't be thinking nothing was wrong. Cerrissa replied 'Call your dad, Ames. x'. I immediately thought of her Facebook status and thought my Oma had died. Earlier this year we'd had some bad news that she has lung cancer and a spot on her brain. 

I called dad. After three calls he answered and asked if I was sitting down. I was lying in bed still so there was no problem about that. He asked again if I was. I thought I knew what was coming. I expected the words to be 'Oma died' but they weren't. The words instead were 'Opa died'. I repeated it three times, each with shock. I couldn't comprehend what he was saying. Opa wasn't supposed to die. Not yet. 

Family at Cerrissa's 18th 2009

Disclaimer needed here, I think. I'm not saying that Oma was supposed to die. She isn't. Not yet. After her news earlier this year we were all preparing ourselves for the worse, as you do. We love her and don't want to lose her. Not now. Not this year. Not next year. We don't want her to die.

Opa and me Christmas 2008

Opa was my favourite. Everyone knows that. We had something special. A connection that only us could have. He was my Opa. I love him like I love no other, it's different. Definitely an unconditional love based on mutual admiration. I looked up to him. I still do.

Opa and munchkin 2009

My favourite photo of us is him chasing me around the balcony one Christmas when I was young. We were both laughing and I know he would have caught me and tickled me until I nearly spewed from laughter. 

Opa and munchkin 2009

I see this mutual love in the relationship between munchkin and my dad, his Opa. It's like no other. It's beautiful. It's special. Unconditional, mutual love. A connection that doesn't take away from any other relationships but is one of a kind.

Dad and munchkin 2009

This year has been rough. Really rough. So rough that I am going to say that 2011 can go fuck itself. Opa's mind deteriorated from Alzheimer's quickly. The last time I saw him was dreadful, it wasn't him. It was a violent, terrified, frustrated, lost man. Not my strong, proud Opa. It was decided that he would be safest in a nursing home. 

Christmas 2009

That was only a few months ago. It's happened so fast. It shouldn't have yet I'm glad it did. In a way. Knowing what I know now I wish a year ago I was grieving like this. I wish a year ago his body gave way rather than his mind. I wish that he died happy rather than confused. He deserved happiness.

Rest in Peace Walter. Rest in Peace Opa.